about a dozen times
not realizing that
I am still living
between margined lines.
The same story again and again
like a broken record.
The same tale with the same ending
which never gets any better.
So I picked up another book on the shelf
Read it once or twice
And noticing the blank pages
without hesitation
began to write.
I wrote myself a library
I wrote myself the stars
I wrote myself flowers
I wrote myself a mended heart.
I wrote myself love
I wrote myself adventure
I wrote myself healing
And I found hidden treasure.
I wrote Once upon a times
I wrote myself laughter
I wrote myself hope
of a happily ever after
I wrote myself smiles
I wrote myself tears
I wrote away my sorrow
I wrote away my fears
I wrote myself loss
I wrote myself friends
I wrote myself strength
until The End.
I wrote myself courage
down to the very last breath
I wrote myself life
in the face of death.
Spilled Ink 